2kil

In Durban, OTC is kind of like a Billygoat Gruff hiding under the bridge. Pretty much every writer that’s got up in this small scene has either had to sharpen their teeth on 2kil’s criticisms, their reflexes dodging Opt’s quart bottles, Plastic’s cans or Yeta all together. I remember the first time I saw a 2kil tag. It was thin black paint on a road sign outside the tech on the corner of Botanical Gardens and Berea Road – that must have been what?... 2003 or 2004?

“To Kill what?” I asked a connection. “Eh bru, meet the ou and you’ll see”, my connection replied, doing a strange thing with his eyebrows. In my 20 minutes with 2kil, One Two’s grizzly graf don, he’d been the mouthpiece for the best and worst sentiments graffiti has to offer. In the scene since its paint splattered conception, his lust for spray paint has inspired generations of writers to pick up a can. But don’t get me wrong, 2kil is no father figure. Pulling no punches, the scene he described to me sounded like a helium balloon with a tiny hole in its base: constantly blowing hot air and falling flat.

By Luke Mason